


Meadow Flowers and Butterflies

by StarSpray



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Tolkien Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of  ficlets for Femslash events</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wildflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are flowers everywhere and Nienor isn't quite sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on tumblr, for the prompt Nellas/Nienor, courtship in the forest.

“Niënor, where are all these flowers coming from?” Morwen appeared in the doorway with a bouquet of daisies and niphredil blossoms. “I found these scattered all over the corridor.”

Niënor glanced at the vase by her bed, filled with violets that she’d spent the day before picking up from the floor every time she turned around. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said.

Morwen shook her head and vanished. When Niënor emerged from her room into their sitting room, she found her mother arranging them in another vase. “It is a wonder there are any flowers left in Neldoreth. It seems you have an admirer, my daughter.” Morwen did not smile often, but a small one touched her lips and softened her stern features as she looked back up at Niënor, who felt her own face turn red.

“I cannot imagine who,” she said. And then she asked, “May I take a walk outside?” Menegroth was vast and grand, but it was still too strange and stifling not to be able to see the sky, even out of a window.

“Do not stray far on your own.”

It was a relief to step outside onto the grass. Niënor walked until she was just out of sight of Menegroth’s sentries, and then hiked up her skirts to run through the niphredil along the Esgalduin, laughing at the butterflies that took flight as she passed by, fluttering all around her, their wings glimmering in the sunlight like feather-light gemstones.

Then something hard and small struck the back of her head. Niënor yelped and spun around, only to find a squirrel sitting on a fallen tree not far away, with a violet clutched in its little paws. It chattered at Niënor a bit before placing the flower carefully on the log and darting away.

“Wait!” Niënor scrambled after it. Surely _squirrels_ hadn’t been the ones dropping flowers everywhere she went!

Somewhere in the trees, she heard laughter. The squirrel led her away from the river, passing through clustered hemlock umbels into a glade filled with wildflowers, too many to name. She lost the squirrel there, when it vanished into the waving blossoms.

Niënor heard laughter again, and a coronet of forget-me-nots twined with wild roses fell atop her head. “Nellas!” she exclaimed as a rose blossom slipped over one eye. “What are you doing?”

Nellas swung down from a low hanging branch by her knees, upside down and grinning. “I’ve not seen you in days,” she said. “So I thought flowers might lure you out of Menegroth—and I was right!” She looked very pleased with herself.

Niënor adjusted the flowers on her head and tried to act stern. “You could have come to see me yourself,” she said, “instead of sending _squirrels_.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Well, now my mother thinks I have an admirer at Thingol’s court,” Niënor said, trying not to notice how Nellas’ tunic was slipping down, exposing her smooth sun-tanned stomach, and also trying not to blush. She wasn’t having much success with either.

“Lady Morwen is wise.” Nellas laughed again and swung back up into the tree. Niënor peered up into the branches after her, and yelped when a rope-and-wood ladder fell down out of the leaves. “Come on!”

Niënor was unaccustomed to climbing ladders into trees, and especially to climbing them while wearing a gown, but she managed, and found herself in a cozy little house nestled among the branches. A pile of soft furs made Nellas’ bed, and she had all sorts of trinkets and half-finished projects lying about—a basket here, a half-woven blanket there—and she sat by the wide open door busily weaving another wreath of flowers, this one of white niphredil. But she set it aside when Niënor finally joined her, and drew Niënor down to sit beside her. “Good,” she said. “Now I have you all to myself.” And before Niënor could ask what they were going to do next, Nellas kissed her. She tasted like strawberries and smelled like flowers, and felt like home.


	2. Good Plain Hobbit Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Pearl Took is the Ringbearer, and Marigold Gamgee tags along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on tumblr

The silence in the courtyard was stifling. Marigold resisted the urge to fidget, and looked up at Miss Pearl, who sat looking around with a frown on her face. They’d come such a long and frightful way—all the way to Rivendell! Marigold wondered what Sam would say if he knew how many Elves she’d met—and, well, for what? It seemed clear enough to Marigold: someone had to take the Ring to that fire mountain off in Wilderland somewhere. And it seemed clear enough to her who would do it—only what was Pearl waiting for?

“Well,” Pearl said finally, chin jutting out in that particularly Tookish way, and startling everyone, all those great lords and wise men, into looking at her, “well, I don’t know the way. But I’ll do it. I’ll take the Ring.”

Elrond spoke, then, saying something about the Hour of the Shire-folk, whatever that meant, and other things Marigold didn’t quite rightly understand. But that wasn’t what she was concerned with, anyway.

“And I’m going too!” Marigold burst out finally, unable to keep quiet any longer. All eyes turned to her, then, and she felt her face grow hot, but the look on Pearl’s face of combined relief and delight gave her the courage to add, “You can’t very well expect to go haring off into the Wild without _me_ , Miss Pearl!” Someone snorted—it might have been Gandalf. “You need someone with good plain hobbit sense!”

“Indeed,” Elrond said, smiling down at her. “Especially since it appears impossible to separate the two of you, even when she is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

Marigold planted her hands on her hips, ignoring Master Bilbo’s laughing and refusing to be embarrassed about it. After all, no one had _asked_ her to leave. “What a mess you’ve gotten us into this time, Miss Pearl!” she said instead.

Pearl laughed and kissed her cheek. “A right mess,” she agreed, “but I am glad you’ll be with me, Marigold!”


	3. Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Silmladylove Femslash February drabbletag prompt: Arien/Uinen

In the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar they had sung together, weaving music in harmony, Arien a bright and bold counterpoint to Uinen’s gentle steady rhythm, each learning of the other as they sang, and delighting in each other’s voices. 

When they descended into Arda, they parted.

Arien flew to the skies to help Varda bring light into the emptiness, to dance through towering nebulae and ride, laughing, the waves of heat and light pulsing from stars newly born of white-hot joy.

Uinen dove into the depths of Ulmo’s watery realm, cool and clear and quiet, where she whispered strains of Music into the currents that threaded like veins throughout the tumultuous new world. 

But in moments of peace between the battles brought upon them by Melkor, Arien descended  like a shooting star from the fiery skies to the shores of the great seas , and Uinen rose like a great wave from the depths, and now when they joined together they created something new—swirling mists that hissed and billowed about them, rising even to become towering clouds in the air. And Arien laughed like the crackling of fire, and Uinen sang like the crashing of waves, and their joy was so fierce and so complete that even Melkor dared not assail them.


	4. Collaboration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Írimë doesn't take songwriting terribly seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on Tumblr, for the prompt: _Elemmírë/Írimë, collaborating on a song_

The bed was a mess, a tangle of sheets and scattered bits of scribbled-on parchment and ink stains. Laurelin’s light streamed in through the open window; outside a bluebird sang happily, unheeding of the laughter coming from inside.

“Írimë Lalwendë, that is _terrible_ , I can’t sing that!”

“Of course you can!” Írimë waved the piece of parchment over her head as she stretched out lazily in the Tree light. “You can sing anything, everyone knows that.”

“I can’t get up in front of the Valar and all three Kings of the Eldalië and sing a song filled with puns _and innuendo_ ,” Elemmírë protested. “I’m going to burn that the moment I get a chance—”

“You will _not_ , I worked hard on this!” Írimë held it just out of reach, shrieking when Elemmírë lunged after it. “Ow, that’s my hair—”

Elemmírë snatched the paper and tossed it over the side of the bed as she straddled Írimë. “You are _incorrigible_ ,” she said, settling back on Írimë’s hips and trying to look stern. “See if I ever ask you to collaborate again.”

Írimë settled back among the pillows and stuck out her tongue. “I’m _clever_ ,” she said. “Just because you don’t appreciate my brilliant sense of humor—”

“Yours is the _lowest_ sense of humor—”

“Excuse you, Ingwë loves my sense of humor.”

“He only indulges you.”

“I would rather _you_ indulged me.” Írimë wrapped her arms around Elemmírë’s waist and dragged her down into a kiss. “I do have some _other_ ideas we could collaborate on.”

Elemmírë laughed. “Another song?”

“Well, there _might_ be some singing…”


	5. Picnic in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnamira joins Goldberry by the lily pool for a proper hobbit picnic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Silmladylove's Femslash February drabbletag on Tumblr, for the prompt: _Goldberry/Lady Hobbit of your choice, picnic by the river and quaint Hobbit customs_

Donnamira glanced over her shoulder just once before passing through the opening in the hedge that led into the Old Forest. She wasn’t _sneaking off_ —she hadn’t done any real sneaking since her teens, when she’d first developed her reputation as the canniest mushroom thief in the North Farthing—but she did not relish delaying her afternoon to answer questions from concerned neighbors or relations.

The trees whispered all around her as she strolled down the path with her picnic hamper. Donnamira hummed a song that Goldberry had taught her ages ago that always seemed to get the forest to leave her alone. There were no words to it, just a tune. Donnamira had once accidentally gotten the whole of the Great Smials humming it for a week straight, and it was still a mystery where it had come from. She smiled, realizing that she had not yet told Goldberry about it—the story would certainly make her laugh.

She reached the lily pool without so much as a stray vine falling on her, and found Goldberry already there, combing out her long golden hair in the sunlight, singing to the lilies of sunlight on the water and wind in the willow boughs. She smiled widely when Donnamira stepped out of the trees, and ran greet her, pale skirts whispering over the grass, to embrace her. “Donnamira! It has been too long!” She smelled of lilies, and her kiss tasted like blueberries. “What a beautiful surprise on this sunny day! Come, let us sit!” Goldberry led the way back to the water’s edge. “And what is this?”

“Why, I’ve brought a picnic lunch!” Donnamira took a blanket from the hamper and spread it out on the grass. “A proper hobbit picnic,” she added as they both sat down, and she started unpacking everything. Stewed mushrooms, roasted fish and vegetables, strawberries and cream, a freshly baked loaf of good hobbit bread, and an excellent vintage of Old Winyards. It was the last of a particularly good year, and Belladonna had raised both eyebrows when she’d seen Donnamira making off with it—but of course once Donnamira explained that it was for Goldberry, Bella had nodded approvingly, and even helped her prepare the rest of the food.

“What an excellent picnic!” Goldberry said as they started to eat. “But you’ve brought so much!”

Donnamira cast a critical eye over the food. “Well, perhaps,” she conceded. “I suppose I could give the rest to Master Tom, if I see him.”

Goldberry laughed. “But I think he shall not have any of the strawberries.”

“Or the wine!” Donnamira poured another glass full for each of them. “Where is Master Tom, anyway? I half expected to find you with his poor bedraggled hat again!”

“Oh, he has visitors of his own, a pair of Elven hunters. I imagine they are off teasing poor badgers and singing Tra-la-la-lally to the clouds and the wind in the trees.” Goldberry shook out her hair and lay back on the blanket to bask in the sunshine. “And that is fortunate for us, for we have some peace and quiet.”

Donnamira hummed in agreement, sipping at her wine, and very nearly lay down to join Goldberry—but the sight of Goldberry’s long golden hair fanning out over the grass reminded her of something very important. “Oh, but I nearly forgot! It was my birthday last week, and I’ve brought you a present!” She dug into the hamper again. It took a moment to find the gift; it wasn’t very big. She’d bought it from the Dwarves the last time she and Bella had visited the Blue Mountains so Bella could spend some time with her friend Dís, and Donnamira had spent a very pleasant week learning the names of all the gemstones the Dwarves had at hand (which had to be nearly all of them, there had been so many!) and making friends with the Dwarf that had bartered her a golden emerald-crusted comb in exchange for several pounds of Shire honey. “Here it is!”

Goldberry sat up and unwrapped the comb carefully, and held it up so the gems glittered in the sunshine. “Thank you, Donnamira! I shall treasure it.

“Now come here, let me kiss you properly.”


	6. And You, my Love, are the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finduilas escapes for an evening of song on the shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for Tolkien Femslash Week Bingo Prompts:  
> Rare Characters i17: Finduilas of Dol Amroth  
> Cliche/Fluff/TLC i15: Gift-giving  
> Story Elements i17: A Pearl Necklace  
> Pairings g13: Human/Ainu
> 
> title from Tyler Knott Gregson's "Chasers of the Light" poetry collection

As the sun sank westward, painting the clouds crimson and vermilion, Finduilas slipped from the palace and ran, barefoot, down the path that lead to the shore. It tide was high and the breeze brisk, sending spray to settle on Finduilas’ face and eyelashes even before her feet touched the sand. She inhaled the smell of clean air and salt deeply, closing her eyes and letting the day’s tension flow out of her.

She would have dropped bonelessly to the ground there, basking in the last rays of the sun and the rising moon, if it were not for the singing she heard down the beach, a voice akin to the sound of waves, but different also, in a way no mortal or Elven tongue could adequately describe.

Finduilas hiked her skirts up to her knees and ran down the beach, laughing as she kicked up sand and splashed through the waves that reached up to wash over her ankles. The singing ceased, melting into answering laughter, and a woman rose out of the waves, water falling around her in a dress of sheer, flowing fabric that wasn’t fabric. Her hair pooled around her ankles and out behind her into the water, woven with pearls and shells and strands of kelp. She caught Finduilas when she stumbled into the deeper water, and both of them laughed into their kiss.

Being with Uinen meant being immersed in music. Even her speech was practically singing. That evening she taught Finduilas the songs of the oysters that made the pearls divers collected for jewelry, while they floated and splashed together in the shallows, until it grew late enough that Finduilas had to return to Dol Amroth. Uinen caught her in a kiss that held all the passion and force of the running tide. “Until we meet again,” she whispered before dissolving into spray and sea foam on the breeze, leaving Finduilas breathless.

It wasn’t until she returned to the palace that she noticed the string of glistening pearls around he neck that had not been there before.


	7. Laughing in the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Tolkien Femslash Week's bingo prompts:
> 
> Four Words O41: Exile, Hands, Diversion, Perception  
> Format/Genre G31: Drabble Series  
> Romance Tropes O41: Kidnapped

 

I.

The soft whisper of laughter was Éowyn's only warning before strong hands slipped over her eyes and mouth. She hardly had time to scream before her kidnapper pulled her into the tall reeds growing along the Entwash. Éowyn fought, but not very hard, thinking it was only her brother or one of his friends playing a joke.

But when her captor released her, far from her horse and the rest of her riding party, she found it was not Éomer at all, but a woman, still laughing, with star-bright eyes and gems in her hair. "Well met, Éowyn of Rohan."

.

II.

"Lalwen! I wish you wouldn't do this." Éowyn pushed her loosened hair out of her eyes to glare properly, but of course Írimë remained unfazed.

"But I must keep up appearances!" Lalwen protested, laughing. She was always laughing—hence her name, she'd told Éowyn when they first met. The gems in her hair glinted. "Your people perceive mine as fey and strange and dangerous. I would hate to disappoint them."

Éowyn rolled her eyes, but could not keep the smile from her face. "What about disappointing _me?_ "

"I would hate that even more." Lalwen caught her face and kissed her.

.

III.

It had started as a game, a simple diversion every time she came south of Galadriel's country. Írimë had intended only to befriend Éowyn, seeing how lonely the girl was—and then she had seen the core of steel in her, and her smile was like the blossoming of a flower in spring.

But the Shadow was growing again, more swiftly than expected; its tendrils reached even to the heart of Edoras, and Éowyn no longer rode abroad with her brother and cousin. In time Írimë did not dare to enter Rohan, for fear of discovery by Sauron's fell servants.

.

IV.

They met again in Minas Tirith, as all of Gondor celebrated the union of its new King with his Queen. Éowyn was dressed all in white, with a mantle of star-studded blue, her golden hair like a cascade of sunlight over her shoulders.

But the reunion was bittersweet. "I have dwelled on these shores in long exile," Írimë whispered into her hair in the quiet hours before dawn, "but come next spring, I will take ship to the West."

Éowyn kissed her soundly, but wordlessly, her calloused shieldmaiden's hands gentle as they pulled Írimë to her one more time.


	8. Waiting out the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Tolkien Femslash Week Bingo prompts:
> 
> Four Words B8: Thunder, Fragment, Apple, Arch  
> Lyrics/Poetry N21: “But the rain is full of ghosts tonight.” Edna St Vincent Millay

Thunder shook the forest as Nellas darted between the trees, rain streaming through her hair and over her face. The only light came from the occasional burst of lightning as it cast everything into sharp relief, just brief enough to trick the eye into seeing monstrous things in the shapes of branches and brambles. 

Usually, Nellas would not be afraid—she had run laughing through many a summer storm in Doriath, and even here too in the forest by the Withywindle. But this storm was not of the natural world, and to the east mountains were breaking, the earth crumbling in against itself as the Powers of the West waged war against the Enemy in Angband, and even here it seemed like she could hear the screaming of Elves and Men as they fought and died. 

She ducked beneath the arching branches of a willow tree, and there found Goldberry, who held out her arms wordlessly—for even the merry River-daughter could find no cheerful song in this. Nellas sank into her arms gratefully, and pressed her face into Goldberry’s shoulder, shuddering with each crash of lightning. Goldberry hummed softly.

Just that afternoon they had picnicked together by the sun-spangled water, exchanging apple-flavored kisses and singing together. It seemed a thousand years ago now. Something far away exploded, and Nellas flinched, imagining molten rock fragments screaming through the air to carve deep craters into the land. Goldberry hummed and rubbed her back.

“It will be over soon,” she whispered. “Ohh, can you feel it? The ghosts of Angband are rising to heed the Doomsman’s call.” 

Nellas shuddered again. Goldberry’s arms around her tightened. “And then what will happen?”

“Then, my star-child, a new song will begin. And we shall sing its first notes together.”


End file.
